


Bloodlines

by actualborealis



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Asexual Armin Arlert, Badass Armin Arlert, Dystopian, F/M, Genetic Engineering, Magic-Users, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualborealis/pseuds/actualborealis
Summary: Enlistment into the military is mandatory at age eighteen. Armin Arlert has never been physically strong but his mind is sharper than any sword; and when he encounters his childhood best friends Eren Yeager and Mikasa Ackerman, missing since they were ten, during training, his resolve is strengthened. He must survive.On the other hand, Eren Yeager and Mikasa Ackerman were among a group of children abducted from Shiganshina by the mysterious Titan Corporation; so were you. Undergoing years of torture and genetic experimentation, you and the other taken children have been placed in military custody, choice 'alterations' in your genetic structure turning you into weapons. You, however, have other plans.There's whispers of a group operating under the radar, a group dedicated to overthrowing the stifling dictatorship, a group symbolized by a pair of wings, white and blue: the Wings of Freedom. And you're going to join them.





	1. Spark

**EIGHT YEARS AGO**  

Shiganshina was burning.

From where you lay sprawled in the street, you could see the flames engulfing the buildings, forked tongues hungrily licking the sky. Smoke poured upwards in endless spirals. Ash settled in your lungs and stung your eyes. Somewhere nearby, the heat of an explosion washed over your body. You became acutely aware of the sticky substance smeared across your skin, and the lingering pain. There was a deep gash across your chest. You didn't really understand what that might mean for you. The only thing you understood was that you couldn't get up, couldn't dig through the rubble of what used to be your house, couldn't pull your family free from the debris that was crushing them. Watery (E/C) hues fixed on the pile of wood and stone that only this morning had been  _home_. Your arm trembled as you lifted it, stretching it out in the desperate hope of reaching your parents or your sister. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that you were out here and they were over there, buried in a thing that should never have been a grave.

_"(F/N), could you step outside for a minute, please?"_

The only reason you were on the cobblestones instead of the wood floor of your kitchen was the man at the door. He'd been a very tall man with long, dark hair and cool pine green eyes. He wore a crisp white suit. You thought you recalled there being a golden handkerchief tucked in his jacket pocket. For a minute, you forgot why you'd agreed to his request; and then you remembered that you knew him. He was Mr Wagner, he lived across the street with his doting wife Victoria and their daughter Johanna. She was your age. You played with her sometimes.

You wondered where Johanna and her mother were now. Trapped in the decimated remains of their house? Tearing your gaze from your own home and turning it to the other side of the street, you were distantly surprised to find the Wagner residence more or less intact. And another thought clawed at the back of your mind: Mr Wagner wasn't here in the street with you anymore. He should be lying here, too. He'd been right beside you when the first explosion rocketed the city. But you didn't remember seeing him as you were thrown off your feet. You didn't remember seeing him when you tried to get back up, only to be showered with shrapnel as another explosion ripped through your home. 

Your eyes were stinging still. It was getting worse. You felt dizzy. Maybe it was better you closed your eyes for a little while. You shouldn't witness the destruction of the place you lived, the streets you grew up on. You tried to replay happier times in your mind: running past the bakery with Johanna on a summer day, for instance. The corners of your lips twitched upwards. You could almost believe the bakery hadn't burned to the ground yet. 

Footsteps crunching over broken glass forced you to blink open your eyes. You weren't sure how long it had been since you closed them. The sky still seemed dark. But the flames raged less violently, and smoke hung thickly in the air, more so than before. You turned your head slightly, watching a pair of polished shoes approaching. You barely had the strength to lift your gaze to the face of the person approaching you. Arms slid beneath you and lifted you from the ground, and you hung limply from them. The overpowering smell of expensive cologne filled your nostrils, wiping away all traces of the smoke for just a little while. You'd smelled that cologne before, wafting through the hallways of the Wagner's household. 

"It's alright," said a voice. "It'll be over soon." You felt a pinprick on your neck. Your vision swam and then went dark.

You couldn't fully understand the depths of Mr Wagner's betrayal. You were only ten years old, after all.

 

**PRESENT DAY**

"What you're looking at now, swine, is the product of a project eight years in the making!" Commander Keith Shadis directed the attention of the new crop of military recruits towards a line of cadets standing silently at the front of the training field. "These elite cadets have undergone genetic manipulation in order to become faster, stronger, and smarter than any of you piles of absolute shit!"

Armin Alert stood at attention, nervous sweat slicking his forehead, his fist pressed tight to the left side of his chest. He could hardly stand to have Shadis' intense eyes rest on his rigid shoulders for even a second. The boy was newly eighteen, like everyone that stood under the scrutiny of the commander. He was shorter than most of the other boys. Some of his blond hair was pulled back out of his face, but the rest hung down past his chin. He was on the lanky side; he wasn't built for the military. The only thing he really had going for him was his intelligence. He devoured books - always eager to learn, cramming his head full of knowledge, expanding his understanding of the world around him. That made him dangerous in his own right.

Cerulean orbs danced over the seven 'elite cadets' being introduced by Shadis until they settled on the pair at the very end of the line up. Shock etched itself over Armin's face.  _He knew them_. The girl was tall, with strong features, steel grey eyes, and jet black hair. The boy at her side had wild chocolate hair and a vibrant viridian gaze that Armin would know anywhere. He was staring at Mikasa Ackerman and Eren Yeager, his childhood friends.  _But they went missing eight years ago, when Shiganshina..._

"... specializes in martial arts," Commander Shadis was saying of a particularly small girl with sharp features and fair hair, and the stunned cadet struggled to pay attention though his mind was racing. He'd missed the spiel on the first figure, a tall girl with a spray of freckles and a smirk, altogether. "REINER BRAUN!" A hulking blond set his jaw and seemed to stand straighter, glowering at the sea of stoic faces scattered in front of him. "Titan Corporation's experiments have enhanced his musculature, giving him extraordinary strength. His contribution will be worth twenty of you filthy maggots! He also boasts skill in pyrokinesis - not that any of you have an IQ high enough to understand what the hell that means!" 

_I haven't seen them in eight years. They look so different. But I don't understand! How did they disappear then, only to resurface now, and as part of this special project? It doesn't make any sense. Unless..._

" - HOOVER! His height alone makes him a formidable opponent - "

_... unless they were kidnapped during the raid on Shiganshina._

"(F/N) (L/N)!" You stood perfectly still, (H/C) hair pulled back out of your (E/C) eyes. You were studying something above the training field. Armin did his best to follow your gaze, surprised to note you were watching a bird fly overhead. He quite suddenly realized you'd stopped paying attention to the bird and dropped your focus onto him. He swallowed. "Her enhanced senses make her ten times as useful as the entire lot of you spineless bastards! She also possesses a knack for precognition - she could tell me exactly when and where each of your miserable lives will end!"

Armin felt twice as uncomfortable under your knowing stare.

"MIKASA ACKERMAN!" He jerked his head to look at the first of his long-lost friends. She didn't move; she made no facial expression whatsoever. He wondered for a second if she'd even noticed her name being called. "The improvements made upon her speed, agility, endurance, and strength go far beyond those made on any of the others. I'd go so far as to say we don't need  _you_ for anything but cannon fodder and practice dummies - this one alone can pick up your fucking slack! EREN YEAGER!" 

Eren looked almost nothing like the wide-eyed dreamer that Armin had befriended all those years ago. There was no wonder in his eyes now, only a burning fire. It frightened Armin. It didn't belong in the eyes of an eighteen year old. It didn't belong in the eyes of any human being. 

"His physical abilities were hardly able to be augmented - but at least  _his_ failure is salvageable! He has extraordinary regenerative abilities! Damn near IMPOSSIBLE to take down! And he has a trump card of his own." Shadis' lips twisted into a smile that definitely did not look right on his face. "TAKE A LOOK, CADETS! This is the caliber I expect from you when your training is complete!"

"YES SIR!" The unified, panicked voices of the trembling recruits threw their acknowledgement at him and he looked about as close to satisfied as was physically possible for him. 

 

The first chance Armin got to reunite with Mikasa and Eren came at the mess hall that evening.

He pushed his way through the crowd, uncharacteristically aggressive in his movements, until he finally found them. Their backs were turned so he reached out a hand to touch Eren's shoulder. He whipped around, looking irritated until recognition settled across his features. He looked like he wanted to smile but also like he wanted to cry. He settled on smiling. Mikasa turned to face Armin as well but she didn't seem like she wanted to react at all, though it was clear she knew who he was. The golden-haired boy struggled to find the right words.

"Eren... Mikasa... I..." 

"It's good to see you too, Armin." Eren clasped his shoulder and squeezed. He smiled weakly in response.

"When the evacuations finished, I couldn't find your names on any of the survivors lists," he said quietly. "I thought... that you had..." He lowered his eyes. "What about your parents?" The look that the adopted siblings shared told Armin more than their words could:  _they didn't know_. His suspicions were growing with each passing second. "Eren... you both disappeared that day, and now you're with the Titan Corporation. What happened to you?"

The color drained from his friend's face almost immediately. His hands clenched into fists. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Mikasa laid a patient, protective hand on his arm and focused her eyes on Armin.

"We can't tell you, Armin," she said simply. "I'm sorry." 

He sensed there was more she wanted to say, but she was too scared. It seemed strange to him that someone that looked like she did was scared of something. Eren was scared too. He could feel the current of fear rushing just beneath the surface. His eyes flickered back and forth between them but he decided not to press the issue; not yet. He'd only just gotten his only friends back. He couldn't risk losing them again, no matter what. He startled when Mikasa laid her hand on his other shoulder but he forced a smile onto his face, barely holding back tears now.

"Is this Armin Artlert?" Your voice broke the stillness of the moment between them as you stepped close, uncertain about your approach. Their hands left the boy's shoulders as three pairs of eyes found your face. Mikasa only offered you a nod but you were used to that - she wasn't a very talkative person nine times out of ten. She liked to observe. 

"The one and only," Eren announced proudly, shaking off the gloomy air about himself instantly. A built in defensive mechanism, you knew. He wasn't the only one of the project members that had developed that. You, Ymir, and Reiner each carried your own masks, vastly different from the shy Bertholdt Hoover, standoffish Annie Leonhart, and indifferent Mikasa Ackerman. 

"They talked about you a lot," you told Armin, sticking out your hand for him with a little bit of hesitance. "I'm (F/N) (L/N)."

"Oh. It's good to meet you," Armin responded, shaking your hand. He furrowed his brow when you stiffened slightly, wondering if he'd made a mistake. Eren caught on quickly and jumped to explain.

"Sometimes physical contact triggers her precognition stuff. Don't worry too much about it." But he was looking at you inquisitively even as he spoke. He didn't have to voice the question; he was worried about you, what you'd seen. You gave him the smallest nod possible.  _I'm fine, it's fine_. It had only been a quick flash. Blood soaking soft strands of golden hair and a wide pair of sky blue eyes. It could have been anything, could have meant anything. You knew better than to read too much into it.

"We should grab ourselves something to eat before it's all gone," you said finally.

You sat with your friends and Armin, picking at your meal while you tuned in and out of the conversation. You felt a pang of sympathy when Armin explained that his grandfather, who'd apparently raised him after the disappearance of his parents, had died during forced military service. Eren's eyes flashed and you had to nudge his shin under the table with the toe of your boot to warn him not to lose his temper. He glanced at you, then back to Armin, reaching over to take his arm in a supportive gesture. Things got lighter as the night moved on and everyone seemed grateful for the jokes, and the laughter, tense as it was.

A couple of hotheaded boys (namely a very loud one called Jean) were trying to arm wrestle with Reiner a few tables down. And across the mess hall, an eating competition broke out between a boy called Connie and a girl called Sasha - as soon as Sasha began stuffing her face, it was blatantly clear who the winner would be. There was an extremely petite girl with a shock of fair hair and big sapphire eyes cheering Sasha on and you recognized Ymir sitting beside her, looking both  _a_ mused and  _be_ mused. You rested your chin in the palm of your hand and let your gaze wander further, scoping out your comrades.

Nobody wanted to be here, that much went without saying. Enlistment in the military upon reaching the age of eighteen was mandatory ever since the war between your country of Eldia and the hostile nation of Marley began. And as much as Commander Shadis had been attempting to break the will of the cadets with his insults, he was right about one thing: you could tell him exactly when and where these people would die, if you wanted to. But you promised yourself you would never willingly dip your toes into that pool. You didn't want to know how many of them would fall in combat. It was better that you pretended that you could all make it through this intact.

After all, wasn't that how you survived Titan Corporation for eight long years?

"(F/N)," Eren said, shoving your hand from beneath your head and bringing you back to reality. 

"Hmm?" You realized, sheepishly, that he must have been trying to get your attention for a couple of minutes. So much for enhanced senses. 

"We're gonna hit the hay."

"Oh. Good night, Eren. Armin." You nodded at both of them and watched the boys retreat, rising to your feet with Mikasa at your side. The walk to the girls' quarters would take only a few minutes and you expected to spend it in silence. 

"What did you see?" Mikasa asked as soon as you were out of earshot of anyone hanging around outside the mess hall. You exhaled slowly.

"Just - his hair, soaked with blood," you answered. "Dunno if it was his or not."

"That's all?"

"That's all." There was a little more silence.

"I think we can trust him."  _That_ surprised you. You swung your head to stare at her, but she was looking up towards the sky, and the expanse of stars sparkling so far above the ground. You opened your mouth to protest, but she interrupted you. "You don't know him like Eren and I do. He's our friend, (F/N). We can't keep the truth from him forever."

"You haven't seen him in eight years," you reminded her, shoulders tensed up. "He might've changed."

"We've all changed," she retorted, although she seemed to regret it a second later, realizing she might have crossed a line. Sometimes she forgot how delicate other people could be, even you, after all the damage you'd suffered. 

"I'm not saying you should never tell him." You chose your words carefully. "I just... think you should wait. Even if we  _can_ trust him, we're not supposed to tell anybody about what they did to us. He could be killed for some of the things we would tell him." 

"You're right. Forgive me." Mikasa had to take a couple of deep breaths to quell the emotion building inside her. 

An hour later and you were settled in the bottom bunk - not by choice, as Mikasa had gotten to the top before you had a chance to change out of your uniform. You settled yourself under the blankets and closed your eyes, listening to the sounds of the other girls filtering in through the door and picking their beds. You recognized Ymir's voice before anybody else's, and then Sasha's (she was loud, it would be impossible not to recognize who was speaking/shouting). This was already more comfortable than your sleeping arrangements at Titan Corporation. A brief image of the stark white, hospital-like room you were locked in every night passed behind your eyelids and your teeth sank into your bottom lip. There was none of that anymore. 

No more wires, no more needles, no more straps. No more scientists, no more vials, no more sedatives.  _No more Dr Wagner_. 

Now there was just a pile of warm linens and the sound of rhythmic breathing from all around you reminding you that here, at least, you weren't going to be alone through the night. You let yourself ease into the mattress further, muscles uncoiling, listening to the soft snoring of Mikasa above you with the faintest of smiles on your face before you fell fast asleep.


	2. Resilient

**PRESENT DAY**

Morning sunlight bathed the training grounds and turned the military camp to gold. Despite its heat-giving rays reaching out to caress the landscape, the chill of the night had not dissipated and your breaths came out in harsh little clouds every time your foot impacted the dirt. You'd been running for something like two hours but were just now breaking into a very light sweat. The majority of the other cadets were already faltering and you passed them with ease. You'd always hated running. Endurance tests were your least favorite. You were never allowed to stop until you physically couldn't continue, and you collapsed, after which you would be reprimanded for ceasing. There was no succeeding with endurance tests at Titan Corporation, but you suspected it was different here. For one thing, you were running outside, in the sunshine, sucking in fresh air - and you could hardly contain your excitement. 

You never expected to  _want_  to go for a run. Now part of you was hoping you could do this all day long. 

"How the fuck does she do that?" groaned a boy with two-toned hair. He was practically dripping sweat and though he still carried himself with determination, you could tell that his legs were begging him to at least slow down a little bit. You gave him credit for refusing their pleas. 

"She's one of Titan Corp's soldiers," said the freckled boy beside him. His voice was gentle, his demeanor soft, but he was holding up better than most. You decided he was probably stronger than anybody gave him credit for and when you passed him again, you flashed him a smile that you almost completely meant. He returned the gesture. The only difference was that his grin was one hundred percent genuine. You envied him that conviction. 

By the time you were ordered to stop running, most everyone was doubled over, gripping their knees and wheezing. You were winded, but remained standing straight, hands resting on your hips. You angled your head back to the sky and you closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the sun kiss your flushed cheeks. You'd never get tired of that as long as you lived. You got your breath back quickly enough, snapping to attention at the barking sound of Commander Shadis' voice. The cadets surrounding you scrambled to salute him. It was a sloppy, sorry sight. You tensed up in anticipation of the commander's harsh reaction. He didn't disappoint.

"I'm sorry, ladies! Was that just too fucking much for you?! A little pre-breakfast jog wiped you out for the day?!" His voice rose to a point where it hurt your ears, but you forced your face to remain unreadable. "As far as I'm concerned, none of you deserves a scrap of food after that SHIT PERFORMANCE! But luckily for you, I still need you maggots functional for a little while longer." He glowered at all of you. "What the hell are you still standing around for, swine?! GET YOUR ASSES TO THE MESS HALL!" 

It appeared you weren't quite done running for the day.

 

**EIGHT YEARS AGO**

Your head was filled with the pounding of your own heart. It struggled to circulate your blood. It might give out at any second. For the second time in your life, you were reminded of your own mortality. Perhaps it was a ten year old's childish fear or perhaps it was a true danger, but you still wondered if you wouldn't survive these tests. You'd been woken at what you could only assume was an early hour - the room they locked you in had no windows or clocks, you never knew what time it was - and had been following instructions ever since. Your lungs felt as though they weren't pulling in enough oxygen to keep you functioning. Your muscles screamed in protest every time you moved. But you were afraid of what would happen if you stopped, and the panic really set in when you realized your strikes were becoming sluggish. Your small fists were battering the punching bag repeatedly, not doing very much damage in the first place, but you were slowing. You were faltering. You snapped your attention to the scientists who stood silently observing, scribbling notes on clipboards or tapping information into electronic tablets. 

"That's enough," ordered Dr Wagner. You couldn't bring yourself to look at him. You dropped your arms to your sides. They felt heavy, like they'd pull you all the way down to the ground if you weren't careful. You heaved for air but you consciously tried not to show how badly winded you were. You didn't want them to hurt you. Your fingers trembled. You hoped they didn't notice. 

Hands on your shoulders led you to a machine you'd never seen before. One of the scientists briefly demonstrated how it worked. You were told it was called a treadmill. And then you were bid to step on and run, as fast as you could, for as long as you could. You hadn't even begun recovering from the hours and hours of physical exertion you'd performed that day. As you began to run, tears welled up in your (E/C) eyes, spilling down your sticky, sweaty cheeks. The smell of salt filled your nostrils. Your face was turning red. Your body felt like it had been set ablaze. The passage of time muddied. You weren't sure at what point your vision started going blurry, a soft blackness edging at the corners, threatening to consume you. You felt separated from yourself. You stared at the wall ahead of you, your mind numb, and you hardly noticed the jostling of your body as your feet pounded the treadmill. 

At one point or another, everything went black.

When you regained consciousness, you were lying on a bed identical to the one they'd given you to sleep in the night before. It was small and not particularly comfortable. The sheets were thin and stark white. The pillowcase was a little scratchy. You couldn't move your arms or legs, and realized after a moment that they were strapped down tightly. You would have panicked if you had any energy left in you. But as it was, you couldn't even make yourself speak. Voices buzzed in the air but you didn't look around because you didn't really care. You couldn't fight them. You didn't have any options aside from surviving, somehow. Someone wiped your neck with a towelette of some kind. It smelled like alcohol. Then there was a needle, a large needle that hurt very much, and a vial attached to the needle that contained an iridescent red liquid.

You swore you could feel every drop of that substance as it was injected into your body. A whimper left your lips without your permission. The voices stopped; whoever was here with you was observing now. You could tell the difference between silences now. This wasn't an empty silence, it was a tense one. You fixed your gaze onto the blindingly white ceiling and hoped that your mind would slip into the comforting blackness again. But instead, you started to feel tingles deep beneath your skin. Your fingers twitched. Your lips tightened. The silence stretched on. The tingling turned into pain. It started slow, bearable, and then all at once became overwhelming. It tore through you from your toes to your head, and escaped you as a scream that could only be described as inhuman. Your small body thrashed violently in the restraints. In that moment, all you wanted was for the pain to end. You'd let someone rip out all your insides if it meant you wouldn't feel this horrible pain anymore.

The voices started again, but the words they spoke were lost on you. You heard them, you just didn't comprehend their meaning.

"Her reaction is particularly violent."

"Yes, but she's lasted one minute, fifteen seconds. That's longer than Subjects 2 and 9."

"Subject 6 expired after nine minutes, eight seconds. And Subject 13 needed to be eliminated at the hour mark. His reaction might have continued for days, weeks. This serum wasn't tested before it was brought into the project."

"There was no _time_ for trials. This will suffice for testing."

"Mm. Say, are you still having everyone for dinner tonight?"

"What? Oh, yes. Plans haven't changed. Three minutes - Subject 4 still experiencing reaction."

" _Violent_ reaction. Should we bring wine? My wife is insisting we pitch in. It's only polite."

"Ha! I wouldn't turn down free booze, my friend. You tell Sharon to buy the biggest bottle she can fuckin' find."

"Eh, you can shove that big bottle right up your - ah! She's coming out of it."

"Three minutes, fifty-two seconds. That's one of the higher successful times. Might be a strong one."

Three minutes, fifty-two seconds. Had it only been that long since the pain started? As it started to fade, you wondered vaguely about 'Subject 6' and 'Subject 13'. Expired. Eliminated. They were dead, even at ten years old you understood that much. Whatever these people were giving you and the other kidnapped children, it was proving lethal in some cases. You couldn't begin to imagine what it was intended to actually do. You felt hands on you, taking your vitals, ensuring you were stable. Shortly after that, there was another, smaller needle entering your skin, and the darkness you'd been praying for finally claimed you. 

 

"Five hours, forty-nine minutes. That's an improvement." 

You slumped further into the arms of the scientist that had caught your falling body, pulled away from the treadmill. Your dull (E/C) orbs flickered to the spot where the punching bag lay on the ground, having broken free from the ceiling during your final flurry of punches and kicks just minutes before you started your run. Your chapped lips parted enough to allow you to pant until you regained your breath. Hands gripped you beneath your arms and you felt yourself being dragged. You let your eyes fall shut even if you didn't sink into unconsciousness yet. You were unceremoniously dropped onto your cot and the door was locked. You greedily sprawled onto the mattress, gathering the pillow in your aching arms and pressing it to yourself hard. You were desperate for a respite. You'd been pushing through the endurance tests almost nonstop since you'd received that injection a week prior. You didn't understand what they'd done to you. All you knew was that you were stronger than you had been. 

The door opened again and the familiar shuffling of Dr Wagner's footsteps pulled you from the comfort of your thoughts. You hated him for a lot of things but in that moment, you hated him most of all for yanking you back from the edge of what you considered to be more-than-well-deserved slumber. He gazed down at you with a smile that somehow made him seem only more indifferent towards you. He was holding his tablet. You almost never saw him without it anymore.

"Good morning, (F/N)." It was morning? But you were just about to go to sleep. "Wouldn't you like to know how you're getting on in these tests?"

When you didn't respond, he threw back his head and laughed. His laugh didn't seem natural but you knew he meant it. You just thought that people like him didn't deserve to laugh. The scientist shook his head at you as though he were an affectionately irritated father. You felt sick. 

"You're coming along wonderfully, child. Your first aptitude tests were dismal. You only made it an hour and six minutes before you collapsed on the treadmill! But now, you've gotten up to almost six hours. It's only been seven days but you're making leaps and bounds. You should be excited!" His green eyes sparkled the way your (E/C) ones once had. He stole that sparkle. "We're going to make you stronger, (F/N). So much stronger. You're so young now, but you're already performing well above the average adult soldier. One day, when you're all grown up, you'll exceed our expectations. I'm certain of it."

He meant to make you a soldier then. You knew what soldiers were, a little bit. Had seen them, met them. But you couldn't possibly understand it, not entirely. He seemed to remember that and chuckled again. 

"Oh, don't you worry. You'll understand when you're older. I can't wait to see how you perform in the next round!" 

Dr Wagner left you alone after that. You were crying again. You did that a lot here. Would your life be nothing but a series of tests and injections, from now until you died? You balled your tiny hands into fists and buried your face into your scratchy pillow. You needed to sleep if you were going to make it through whatever they had planned for you. And you swore to yourself that you would make it. You'd survive this, no matter what that meant, what that took. There would be no droning voice discussing dinner plans and casually mentioning Subject 4's expiration. 

The blackness, your only friend in this cruel place, took you soon enough.


	3. Visionary

**SEVEN YEARS AGO...**

It was the shrill screaming of an alarm you didn't recognize that woke you. The squeak of military grade boots scrambling down the corridor just outside your cell door told you how serious the situation must have been. You could pick out fifteen distinct pairs of feet stomping towards the source of the siren, and you could be certain there were more coming from different directions. You pushed the blanket to the floor and slid off your cot, creeping to the door and pressing your ear against it, straining to listen. You shut your eyes tight, trying to block out visual stimuli so you could pour more concentration into your auditory senses. The most a normal person might have heard would be distant, muffled shouting; incoherent, even at best. But you were not a normal person anymore.

Untangling the snippets of dialogue took you a minute, but you were starting to get a clear picture of what the situation was, even if you didn't really understand it. There was an electrical fire in one of the testing rooms that was appeared, at first, to have been started due to a malfunction of the equipment hooked up to Subject 10, a boy you knew to be named Bernard. But in the ensuing chaos, every piece of electrical equipment Bernard came into contact with would violently react, and the fire grew larger and more intense. Somehow he was causing this. 

His panicked pleas made it clear that he didn't know what he was doing, but it didn't matter to the guards sent to control the scene. Two gunshots later, Bernard went silent and you pulled away from the door. The only thing left for you to listen to was the sound of raging flames.

That was the first experience Titan Corporation had with the unintended side effects of their serum.

You were the fourth of the test subjects to develop a special ability, but it was not discovered until seven more had begun to show signs. It started innocuously enough - strange dreams that you thought too vivid to be dreams. The first one to 'come true' was one involving three other test subjects: 7, 8, and 14. You had met them all before but you weren't close with any of them, not like you were with some of the others (not like you'd been with Bernard). About two days after having the dream, you found yourself in the cafeteria, listening to the same conversations you'd heard in your sleep. 

"Dragons. What do you think?"

"What? Dragons? Lame."

"What? But - "

"No, I'm serious. Lamest thing ever. Just, like, giant geckos with wings."

Normally you liked listening on in conversations like this. In such a terrible place, the friendships formed between these kidnapped children, and the ways they coped with all the trauma they were enduring, it filled you with hope. But you couldn't think anything other than  _I've heard all this before_. You fidgeted where you sat. You mostly picked at the remains of your lunch, not very interested in eating anymore. Your (E/C) orbs were dancing around the room, searching for particular faces, waiting for what you already knew was going to happen. 

It didn't take you very long at all to catch the flash of wild chocolate hair belonging to Subject 7. You knew he was accompanied by Subject 8 at almost all times, and it didn't surprise you to find her at his side now, her disinterested gaze turned towards... oh no. Subject 14. Before you knew what you were doing, you were on your feet and making your way towards them as they placed their trays at the food window. 

" _I_ hear he cries himself to sleep. Is that true, 7? You cry yourself to sleep every night?" 

8 placed a pale hand on 7's shoulder, her grip tight enough to turn her knuckles pure white. She murmured something in his ear. You could have heard it if you tried but you didn't need to. You already knew.  _He's not worth it, Eren._ You also knew that the boy called Eren was not going to leave it be. You knew he was going to turn around, only for his face to met with 14's fist. His nose would break. There'd be blood all over him and the floor. Guards would come running. It wasn't going to be a pretty scene. His feet were already pivoting, his hands clenched and his jaw set. 14 drew back his arm in anticipation of the opening and let his fist fly.

You caught his wrist. He stared at you. You stared back at him. The raven-haired girl was pulling the boy with viridian eyes back slightly. They were staring at you too. You released 14's arm with a small shove.

"Leave him alone." You thought your voice would shake and were pleasantly surprised to find it even, steady. Your eyes followed him all the way back to his table before you turned to face 7 and 8 sheepishly. "I'm... sorry."

"Your reflexes," 8 stated. Her tone seemed devoid of all emotion, but you could sense that it was more like all the emotions had been cloaked. Likely her way of coping. 

"I knew it was going to happen," you admitted quietly.

"What?" That was Eren. His jaw hung open slightly.

"I knew he was going to punch you. I saw it, in..." You hesitated. "In a dream." The pair exchanged a look. You knew it probably sounded crazy but considering the developments of the past couple of months as far as 'crazy' was concerned, you were pretty confident they'd believe you nonetheless. 

"Well... thanks for... not letting him," Eren said finally. He stuck his hand out for you and you shook it. "I'm Eren. This is my adopted sister, Mikasa." Your shoulders began to relax. The sharing of given names was one of the biggest steps that could be taken among this group of people, and you knew that. You  _also_ knew his name was Eren but decided to leave that out for now.

"I'm (F/N)," you responded. "Can... I ask you a favor?" Neither of them responded, but you continued anyways: "Please don't tell anybody about this. I'm... not sure what they'd do."

Nobody knew what sort of special tests were performed on the test subjects displaying 'unusual behavior', as the recent developments had been coined by the staff. All you knew was that those subjects were separated from the larger group, which never meant anything good. Eren grabbed your hand again and squeezed it, nodding his head, trying to convey to you that he had your back - which you were positive meant Mikasa did too. You squeezed his hand gratefully.

For now, you were safe.

 

**PRESENT DAY**

"If you don't mind me asking," Armin's voice derailed your train of thought and you glanced up from your soup at his prompting, one raised eyebrow encouraging him to continue. "Your...  _abilities_. Was that truly the aim of the project?"

Three pairs of eyes - misty, jade, and (E/C) respectively - met with an apprehensive, but knowing look. You and your friends had little trouble communicating without using words when the occasion called for it, as it often had during your time with Titan Corporation. In this situation, you didn't need to voice your concerns about telling Armin about the project for the seventeenth time. You were a bit fond of him, certainly, and you  _were_ learning that he could be trusted (most likely), but you were worried about what would happen to him if someone found out he knew more than he should have. And you were worried about what would happen to you and the others should that someone find out where he learned the information. 

It was too big a risk, even for someone trained to take enormous risks.

But there was something pleading in Eren's gaze that gave you pause. None of you ever really acknowledged, out loud, the things that had happened to you over the last eight years since you set foot in the military camp. You hadn't even discussed it amongst yourselves. It was weighing heavily on your shoulders. You could imagine it weighed just as heavily on his, and Mikasa's even if she'd never let anybody see it. Your teeth sank into your lower lip. They wouldn't reveal anything unless all three of you agreed on it. All you had to do was shake your head, and you could avoid an uncomfortable conversation with potentially disastrous consequences. Instead, you nodded.

"No," Eren answered him, caught between relief and anxiety. "No, it wasn't. None of us even started getting them until a year in. The scientists didn't know what was happening at the time. Actually, I was the last one to develop anything."

"But how did you 'develop' them?" It was clear that he was desperate to understand. To make sense of everything. You knew that feeling very well. The deeper you got into it with Titan Corporation, the more you craved explanations. The more you needed to know about what they had done to you, how they'd done it, and why. And before all that, as a very young child, you'd yearned to understand the world around you. 

You felt in Armin a kindred spirit. Maybe that's why you decided to answer him completely, and truthfully.

"Armin..." You drew his attention now, struggling to figure out how to put this in terms he would both understand and possibly believe. "How long have we been here now, training for the military?" 

His brow furrowed. "Three months."

"And in those three months, how many things have you seen that... defy all scientific explanation, as you know it? How many things have you seen that you would never have believed if you  _hadn't_ seen them with your own eyes?" He considered your question.

"An... alarming amount," he admitted. The frown growing on his face told you he was catching on to where you were going with this line of inquiry.

"What I'm about to tell you, to anyone who hasn't seen the things you and I have both seen, would sound absolutely mad." You took a deep breath. "In fact, the scientists could barely believe their own conclusions. It took them another year before they acknowledged the truth and began to work with it." Eren elbowed you so you got on with it. "The, um, the ancients believed in a lot of things. A lot of magical things, and - and creatures. Mythological beings of great strength and power. Gods. That sort of thing. Some cultures believed that there was... interbreeding between these species and...  _our_ species."

"Resulting in hybrid bloodlines," Mikasa intoned, folding her arms across her chest, expression unreadable as ever - which was not helping.

"Yes, exactly. So there would be pure humans and... not pure humans. And they'd mix too, which would dilute the hybrid bloodline, but it wouldn't disappear entirely, would it?" You leaned in slightly, and Armin leaned in with you, his sky blue eyes wide as he listened. "When they gave us their serum, they were only trying to enhance our physical abilities, to make us stronger, and faster. But that's not all it did. For some of us, it strengthened the part of our genetic code that isn't strictly, purely human."

"You're... saying..." He looked between you and his friends, searching your faces for some sign that you were pulling his leg, or that you were perhaps insane. But he found none, and paired with the unbelievable things he'd seen, he'd be a fool not to put his faith in you now. 

"That there really were magical beings that mixed with humans, yes. And that the 'successful' products of the project descend from them. Yes again." You leaned back, your heart going a million miles a minute. You couldn't believe you'd just  _told_ him. 

"Do you know what... bloodline you come from?" Armin asked, the question directed at all three of you.

"No," you said.

"But we have some theories!" Eren interrupted eagerly. "Mikasa went from superhuman to  _extremely_ superhuman, kinda like the demigods of Greek mythology."

"You think she's part  _god_?" The blond found that a little harder to believe.

"Not in so many words," you said, shaking your head. "The Greeks would call these people demigods, but that probably wasn't what they actually were. Of course, we don't know what they actually were but... whatever it was, she's got it in her. Probably." He nodded a little bit at that; it was easier to make sense of it when you explained it in those terms. 

"In lots of stories, werewolves are supposed to have accelerated healing." Eren again, this time with a smug smile on his face. "That's probably where I get my awesome regenerative powers from."

"Guess you could be considered a dog," you muttered. He stepped on your foot under the table, never losing his grin. Armin's eyes fell on your shoulders now.

"What about you, (F/N)?" he asked quietly. 

"I'm not sure where the bloodline would have started," you said, a hand coursing through (H/C) locks, "but we... think that we could probably trace it back through the oracles of ancient Greece."

"The oracles." His pupils dilated as excitement gripped him. He'd read a book about Greek oracles before! "Seers and speakers of prophecy. The most important and well known oracle of ancient Greece was called the Pythia, mouthpiece of Apollo, or else the Delphic oracle. You - you think the oracles were hybrids?"

"Either that, or they were 'creatures' in their own right. We'll never know." You shrugged, a little self conscious. "All I know is what I can do."

Armin was looking at you differently now. It wasn't just with warmth and kindness; it was with awe. You angled your head down, feeling heat rising to your cheeks. Your hands folded themselves tightly in your lap. You didn't consider your ability to be anything to gawk at, considering the flashy and immensely strong powers granted to most of the other subjects. But this one was staring at you like your visions were the most intriguing thing he'd ever heard of. 

"Will you tell me about how you started having them?" he pressed.

"Not today." You said it a bit quicker, and maybe a bit harsher, than you meant to, standing and collecting your tray. "Not... not today." You couldn't find any more words, so you moved off, leaving the three old friends to sit alone and watch you go.

"Don't mind her," Eren dismissed, waving his hand.

"The dreams didn't bother her as much," Mikasa said, her eyes still fixed on your shoulders when theirs turned away. "But the visions - they were worse. She doesn't talk about the first ones anymore."

"Oh," Armin said, and - for now - he left it at that.


	4. Delphi

**MID FOURTH CENTURY CE.**

Beneath the earth at the Temple of Apollo, the Pythia sat perched on a ritual tripod, attended by a circle of devoted priests as she entered her trance. The bitter taste of laurel lingered in her mouth but it was tempered by the sweet aroma of the vapors curling up from the cracked ground her bare feet dangled over. The further the gases relaxed her, the easier it was to allow the visions to come to her as she willed them, as her people had been doing for two thousand years. As her body began to sway and seemingly nonsensical words tumbled from her pale lips, two of her priests gripped her hands in an attempt to both comfort her and ensure she did not fall from her post. There was a finely dressed man knelt on a colorful cloth nearby, bowed low but listening carefully as her attendees deciphered her mutterings, forming them into cohesive sentences that would hopefully answer the question he'd given much to ask. 

And then there was a great rumbling from deep inside the earth. The nobleman understandably panicked; he'd traveled great distances to be at Delphi, and was unfamiliar with the earthquakes that often struck the glorious temple. But the priests reacted quickly, easing the Oracle from the beautifully crafted stool and carrying her away, her head lolling back and the scarlet fabric covering her hair falling away. It crumpled to the floor. An elderly priest stepped over it carefully, taking the arms of the Pythia's fearful audience and guiding him to rise.

"The shaking will cease soon, and you may return to the surface temple and leave Delphi," he said in a voice cracked with age, sharpened by experience. "Apollo will not answer your inquiry this day."

Laid upon the silks draped over her bed, the Pythia's sweat-slicked forehead was dabbed with a wet cloth, and as her ramblings began to soften and her eyes began to focus, her followers crowded close to her. Though they had done their best to interpret for themselves what she had seen, in the end only she could be sure what it all meant. If they were very lucky, she might remember something of her vision. Clarity settled back onto the woman's shoulders and she pushed herself to sit up, dark eyes searching their faces.

"What has Apollo shared with you?" someone whispered urgently, sensing that not all was well.

"I have been shown a troubling future." She closed her eyes for a moment. "I must enter trance once more, and commune with Apollo. He has more to reveal."

"He did not answer the official's question?" 

"No." When she reopened her eyes, they were glazed with a pain that was not physically felt, but ever present deep within her. "Have the springs prepared."

The Pythia was left alone to her thoughts, her priests dispersing to fulfill her orders as well as to assess the state the temple was left in after this latest earthquake. The Oracle rose from her bed and padded to the elegantly carved wooden dresser pushed against the wall, which was decorated with a tile mosaic depicting her beloved Apollo strumming his lyre. Her fingers ghosted over the wall tiles before falling to the surface of the dresser. They rested there a moment before she poured water from a pitcher into her divining bowl, cupping it in her hands and lifting it, staring intently into the contents. She struggled to make sense of the subtle movements of the life-giving liquid; the ripples that danced for her. What was it Apollo was trying to warn her about?

For a moment, she thought she could make out a pair of hardened (E/C) eyes staring back at her from the bowl, and she startled. Her favorite divination tool tumbled from her hands and clattered to the floor. It remained intact, but the water sloshed over the stone and her feet. She winced at the cold sensation, stepping back quickly. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly in an effort to calm herself, the Pythia closed her eyes and cleared her mind, chasing away those strange eyes to give herself a moment's peace. When she entered trance again, Apollo would offer her clarification. He would not leave her to wonder at the things she'd seen. 

He'd never let her down before.

"The springs are ready for you." The voice of her High Priest forced her eyes open, and she trailed after him silently. Apollo's sacred springs would wash away the filth of the mortal world and allow her to connect to the purity of Olympus. 

The Pythia shed her robes and stepped into the holy waters. Wisps of steam snaked through the air, kissing her skin. She inhaled deeply to fill her lungs before dunking her head beneath the water. She remained submerged for as long as she could hold her breath, returning to the surface with a soft gasp. She could feel the presence of Apollo here, faintly, as eager to communicate with her as she was with him. Her stomach twisted nervously; he must have more warnings to share, and that meant the path ahead was fraught with more danger than she'd anticipated. Reluctantly, she bathed, scrubbing every inch of her body and anointing herself with scented oil as she exited the springs. She allowed her priests to dry her skin and her hair before dressing her. She accepted her shawl and placed it over her head. 

As she followed the passageway leading to her tripod, positioned right over the crucial vent, she was passed a handful of laurel leaves to chew; Apollo's herb. Their sharp flavor attacked her tongue and invaded her senses, briefly overpowering them, but she ground the flora with her teeth determinedly. She was confident in her stride now, pulling ahead of her devotees to settle herself on the ritual tripod, taking a deep breath to allow the sweet vapors to enter her body. 

But as she inhaled, she realized with a cold horror that something was very wrong. There was no saccharine taint to the air around her, and she could not see the fumes pouring from the crack in the floor. With a wild look of panic in her eyes, she swung her head around to meet the concerned gazes of her priests. 

"Apollo's gift," she rasped. Realization began to dawn slowly, taking the form of clenched fists and tightened jaws. The Pythia inclined her chin. "Leave me." Sensing their hesitance, she curled her lip. "I said leave me! I will do this alone! Go!" 

Her command finally sent them scurrying, each down a different passageway, leaving her by herself in the ritual chamber. Her fingers tightened in the fabric of her dress, hands resting in her lap. She concentrated on the taste of laurel lingering in her mouth. She forced her body to sway, picturing Apollo in her head, willing herself to enter trance. But without the help of the gas that Apollo had blessed her ancestors with, there was no hope. It was not a state the Oracle could hope to achieve voluntarily. That had never been the way. For thousands of years, her people had suffered their curse, overtaken by prophetic visions against their will without warning, until the fumes of Delphi had been discovered. The gods had finally given them a means through which they could take control of their abilities. And for two thousand years, they had given advice to the people of Greece and of lands beyond. 

That time was finished now. This Pythia would be the last. 

"No," she murmured, a flash of (E/C) breaking through her hopelessness, reminding her of Apollo's final warning. "Not the last." 

 

**PRESENT DAY**

Armin had been keeping a close eye on you for the past few days. 

It wasn't his place, he felt, to mention it to anyone, though he was positive Eren and Mikasa had also noticed the change in your behavior. He'd started keeping track of your physical performance as well. Even though you and the other enhanced soldiers were still miles ahead of the rest of the recruits, you were falling behind a bit. The variations were so minuscule that it didn't appear anybody else had noticed but his gut told him they were important. So he watched. Monitored. He didn't breathe a word to you, but he saw everything - the faintly dark circles under your eyes, the tremor of your hands every morning at breakfast that was always masked by lunchtime, the horrified way you would stare at a select few cadets when you were sure no one was looking. 

The problem was that you had enhanced senses; inhuman senses. You hadn't caught him at it yet but you would. It was only a matter of time. He'd let his gaze linger a little too long and you'd realize he knew. He wasn't sure what he knew but he  _was_ sure you didn't want him to. Which was why he was completely and utterly stunned when you fell in step beside him after dinnertime one evening, eyes fixed straight ahead and never wavering, and said, "Something's wrong." He almost had a heart attack - he hadn't even heard you approach and he certainly hadn't been expecting to hear your voice. His heart jammed itself into his throat briefly, leaving him stammering lamely in an attempt to force words out, to ask  _what_ was wrong. Fortunately, you seemed to understand.

"I'm not stupid. I know you've been... concerned." Staring, really, but it was done  _out of_ concern and you figured that counted for something. "I... look, I don't understand these visions. I never did. I just know how to deal with them, usually, but... for the last week, they've been - harder to swallow. I don't want to tell you about them," you said this firmly, before he had the chance to press for details, "so don't ask. Some things are better left unsaid when it comes to the future. Just... know that they're bad. Horrible, actually." Your lips pressed into a thin line and there was never a moment in Armin's life where he wanted to comfort someone more than he wanted to comfort you then. He just didn't know how to. 

"Can I help?" he asked finally. The corners of your lips quirked upwards. You'd admit that you definitely didn't know what to make of him when you first met him, but he had Eren and Mikasa's trust from the beginning and he was earning yours - slowly, but surely. 

"Honestly, Armin? I - I don't know. I don't even know why I'm telling you any of this." Maybe it was because you didn't want to tell the other two, but you knew you couldn't keep it bottled inside of you. Eren was too passionate, too fired up, and Mikasa wouldn't rest until you'd told her everything, especially those things you didn't want to. But Armin wasn't anything like them. He was quietly offering you his support in any way he could and that was a breath of fresh air. "But thank you for... listening." 

The blond nodded. He opened his mouth to speak but you'd already pulled ahead of him. He didn't get another chance to speak to you, alone, for five days. He spent those five days continuing to watch you, though no longer feeling the need to conceal it from you. You'd occasionally lock eyes with him and one corner of your mouth would twitch into a fleeting half-smile. It was your way of thanking him without actually thanking him and he would give you the smallest nod possible when he recognized the gratitude. It would have been a comfortable existence under any other circumstances. Instead, it always made you sick to your stomach afterwards, thinking about everything you were keeping from him.

Thinking about the blood-slicked field you found yourself in day after day. The dying screams of soldiers around you, their fingers reaching for the skies above, their eyes losing their fighting spark as they expired. Whatever they were facing was merciless. You'd never seen so much carnage. The worst part was recognizing the faces of the deceased; shaking off the vision only to find yourself staring right at them again, laughing and completely, blissfully unaware of the inevitable. You tried very hard to wipe the despair from your expression before they noticed. Someone would remember what you did, what you could do, and put the pieces together. You were sure Armin already had. But you didn't want anyone else to have to live this way, to have that kind of knowledge hanging heavily over their shoulders. To look at their friends, their brothers and sisters in arms, and realize that this might be their last happy memory together. 

Five days after your conversation with Armin was a rare day of rest. There would be no training. Nobody was brave enough to ask Shadis why, in case he changed his mind. You were antsy. It wasn't that you'd rather be working yourself into the ground, but you needed to be doing something - or else you'd be left alone with your thoughts. Unfortunately, that's precisely what happened. You found yourself sitting despondently on the edge of a stone well, hands gripping the fabric of your pants tightly as you stared at nothing in particular; eyes unfocused, unseeing. That was how Armin found you. He knew immediately what must be happening to you. You'd never been so perfectly still. It was unnatural. He approached slowly but you weren't coming out of it, even as he sat down beside you. His hands hovered nervously over your shoulders. He wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do but he knew that it often helped in times of distress. He remembered Eren's hands weighing on  _his_ shoulders, Mikasa's resting on Eren's. He could only hope that he was making the correct decision.

As soon as his hands made contact with you, you stiffened and shook your head. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You sucked in a shuddering breath, too scared to look at him for several moments. He said your name softly and you snapped your head towards him. As soon as your eyes locked with his ocean hues, you let your armor crack with a single sob - and then it all came rushing out at once. He was startled and froze for a second. No, this was the wrong time to be freezing up. You needed him. He wasn't your closest friend by a long shot but right now, he was all you had, and he didn't think leaving you to fetch Eren or Mikasa would help. Instead, he carefully wrapped his arm around you and let you lean into his chest, your burning tears soaking his shirt. He opened his mouth, realized he had nothing to say, and closed it again, opting to hold you silently while you came to terms with everything you'd seen. Little did he know, that was all you'd ever needed.

 

**MID FOURTH CENTURY CE.**

The dimly-lit corridors sprawled beneath Apollo's temple complex, stretching in a maze that he could only liken to the Greek underworld. That, indeed, was where he felt he was now. Clambering through the low, narrow passages, Julian felt little like an emperor. But he had heard tales of the Pythia, that respected Oracle who spoke the truth of Apollo himself, and he felt he no choice but to come consult her as so many had done before him. It was her culture, after all, that the Roman sought to resurrect. The classical age of Greece was widely known, widely studied. And he believed it would be a step in the right direction for his empire to emulate that society. 

It was the seventh day of the Delphic month. A gift for the Oracle had been selected. A ritual cake had been prepared. A sacrificial animal was borne by his servants. 

When the passageway finally sloped slightly downwards and opened up into the divination chamber, Julian was struck by the sense that he was now in another world. A woman, barefoot and clad in the brightly colored clothes of a maiden though she was long past her maidenhood, sat upon a three-legged chair, crowned in laurel. He knelt before her, feeling her dark gaze sweep over him from head to toe, taking in his stocky form and his handsome face. He was acutely aware of the fact that she knew who he was, and what he was here to ask of her, and so he did not speak. He simply remained on his knees, trembling despite the surprising warmth of the room.

"You have come to seek the wisdom of Apollo." Her voice was hollow. 

"I have," he answered, stunned when she responded with a bitter laugh. "You... are the Pythia, are you not?"

"I am," she confirmed. "But you will find no answers here."

"I have followed the ritual instructions to the letter." Julian was not used to being denied anything. He stood then, his eyes flashing in anger. He was the emperor of glorious Rome! He had not come all this way to be made a fool of by this old woman. She would bend to his wishes and speak for Apollo, or there would be hell to pay. "I demand your prophecy!" 

The woman lifted her chin and regarded him coldly. He almost regretted his harsh tone, until she nodded slowly, apparently consenting to him. The emperor held his breath. He'd heard stories of the Oracle entering trance; watched closely for the moment she began to sway, and utter things only her priests could understand. But she did none of these things. She tilted her head to look at the cracked ground beneath her stool. Longing swam in her deep, dark eyes. She beckoned to her sullen-faced High Priest, who moved to her side silently, bending his head so she might murmur in his ear. He straightened and stepped forward, directing his attention to Julian, speaking the final advice of the Delphic Oracle:

"Tell to the king that the carven hall is fallen in decay; Apollo has no chapel left, no prophesying bay, no talking spring. The stream is dry that had so much to say." 


End file.
